About ten
o'clock our friend, Rev. Mr. Woods, met us and gave us the message
sent by father, so it was arranged we should go to the reverend
gentleman's home and await his and brother George's coming. Mrs. Woods
was a Southern lady, from Alabama, and met us with warm hospitality.
She was glad to see us, being the only white woman in Stockton at the
time. And we were glad to meet another woman. These good people had
several boys but no girls. We were seven girls and one boy. As
ministers' families, we had much in common. The Woods' cottage was
pretty well crowded, but we managed well, as every one was able to be
a help instead of a burden. A tent was put up in the lot and bunks
were soon made, and we put the men in the tents and the women and
children indoors. We were not yet acclimated and suffered with colds
for several weeks.
We patiently awaited father's return, but three whole weeks passed
before the meeting was granted us. We were sitting in front of the
cottage, chatting and sewing, when about four o'clock in the afternoon
we saw several men approaching and, as we observed them, my quick eye
recognized father. With one spring from the porch I cried, "Father,"
and as fleet as a rabbit I was off before any one realized what was
the cause of my sudden exit. They watched my flying feet and by the
time they realized what I was doing I was in the arms of the dear old
daddy, coming slowly with Mr. Woods, brother George and two friends.
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